


Les Mis Hug Prompts

by Sunfreckle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, Everyone gets hugs, Fluff, Friendship, Hugs, Multi, Tumblr Prompt, hug prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-08-29 07:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 13,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16739587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle
Summary: A collection of Les Mis hug prompts written for tumblr.





	1. ExR First Hug

Enjolras and Combeferre don’t host a lot of parties. Not because they don’t want to, but because Courfeyrac’s has made it his particular calling to do so. Tonight the hangout was at their apartment though and as far as Enjolras is concerned, it had been a really good time. Things have been good in general, lately. Bahorel has been much happier since he finally dropped out of law school (nobody had realized they had been experiencing Bahorel at diminished capacity before, his full force of cheerful energy is nothing short of shocking) and Joly has been steadily growing more comfortable since he switched therapists. The change has been so gradual that Enjolras wasn’t continually aware of it, but it suddenly struck him today. It makes him so happy he barely feels how tired he is.

Most of the people have left by now though, so there is not much hosting or entertaining left to do. Feuilly, Jehan and Grantaire are the only ones still here, and they are getting ready to leave too. Grantaire. That’s the other reason why things have been good. He and Grantaire finally talked about some of the shit that’s been going on between them and about how they would rather do without it. Enjolras had been very surprised when Grantaire approached him to talk a couple weeks ago, but it has made a proper difference. Being around a Grantaire that isn’t trying to push his buttons (intentional or not) is a revelation. Looking back Enjolras is sure he has some things to apologize for too and he’ll get to that as soon as he’s sorted it out for himself and put it in the right words. It’s a world of difference already though and tonight the absence of frustration and tension has been extra clear.

The others must be aware of it too, Jehan is saying for the third time what a good time they had, trying to struggle into their coat with clumsy movements until Feuilly helps them with a tug on their collar.

“Thanks,” they smile and they turn to Enjolras and Combeferre. “Thanks for hosting, guys,” they say, giving them both a hug. “Sorry about the washing up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Combeferre says with a smile and Enjolras hums:

“Our pleasure.”

“Worth repeating,” Feuilly says with a tired grin. “Definitely.” He hugs them both goodbye also and suddenly Enjolras realizes that he doesn’t remember ever hugging Grantaire. It actually makes him frown for a moment, because that can’t be right. But it is, he really can’t remember a single instance. Well…that  _isn’t_  right. Grantaire is hanging back a little, already wearing his coat, and Grinning at Jehan who has gone past sleepy and is now firmly in “endearingly delirious” territory.

Enjolras steps past them while Combeferre hands them their bag and looks at Grantaire. “I had fun tonight,” he says. “Glad you were there.”

The corner of Grantaire’s mouth quirks up in a tired smile. “Glad to be here.”

Enjolras smiles contentedly and, because why the hell not, opens his arms invitingly.

Grantaire actually hesitates and that alone is enough to assure Enjolras this is important. Still, he absolutely waits until Grantaire steps forward. He does though and Enjolras leans towards him and hugs him goodnight, just like he does with all his friends.

There is a single moment of tension in Grantaire’s shoulders and then he hugs back. Enjolras is taller, but Grantaire is broad and Enjolras can feel very clearly that Grantaire is soon supporting more of his weight than the other way round.  Not hugging Grantaire has been a waste though, that much is clear. Because he’s really, really good at it. It feels warm and supportive. It  _feels_  like the look on Grantaire’s face when he’s smiling at nothing for a moment. Without fully realizing it Enjolras lets his eyes close. A weight seems to slide off his shoulders and he suddenly feels so safe that he wishes Grantaire would never let go. It’s like he’s—

Oh.

Enjolras lets go because Grantaire does and he doesn’t know where to look. He can feel his heart beating high in his chest and his face feels hot. He takes a step back in confusion and Jehan and Feuilly move past him, opening the door and pulling Grantaire along.

“Sleep well,” Feuilly says, one steadying arm around Jehan.

“Yes,” Jehan yawns and they say something else that Enjolras doesn’t hear at all, because he can still feel the touch of Grantaire’s curls against his face and he doesn’t know how to deal with any of this right now.

“Goodnight, be safe,” Combeferre says, standing by the door ready to close it, but just before he does Grantaire looks back and Enjolras has just enough presence of mind to look back.

“Night, Enj,” he says, with an almost helpless smile on his face.

“Goodnight, R,” Enjolras mumbles and his voice comes out ridiculously soft.

The door closes, Grantaire is gone, and Enjolras stand staring at the door, a collage of in hindsight painfully obvious past events suddenly falling into place.

“You alright, Enj?” Combeferre asks and Enjolras looks up to find his friend looking at him with an interested expression.

“I, yes, I’ve just. Grantaire.” He closes his mouth again, because clearly coherent speech is not in his power right now.

Combeferre, however, merely raises his eyebrows and says: “Oh, oh, ok. Well, no time like the present right.” Which makes all this infinitely more embarrassing, because it means he  _knew_.

Enjolras makes a muffled sound and leans back against the wall.

Combeferre smiles. “I’ll go make us some coffee, shall I?” He looks back in the doorway. “At least, I’m guessing you don’t want to go to bed just now.”

Enjolras meets his amused grin with a dismayed look that is full of everything immediately embarrassing and everything potentially wonderful. No. No he does not.

Combeferre nods. “Coffee it is.”


	2. Marius & Courfeyrac Comfort Hug

Friday night is movie night at the apartment and even though Marius would be fine with letting Courfeyrac pick the movies, for equality’s sake they take turns. This week it’s Marius’ choice and he’s very proud of his pick. Because Courfeyrac is very fond of horror movies and for once Marius – who really isn’t that into all the screaming and the chasing – has managed to bring something that actually counts as ‘scary’. Maybe it’s not quite horror, but it’s a proper ghost movie and an old favourite. It’s beautiful. And romantic.

They’re snuggled up on the couch, keeping snug under one of Feuilly’s knitted comforters, but both with their own bowl of popcorn. Marius prefers salted and Courfeyrac makes a strange, caramelized molten sugar concoction. They settled on making separate bowls long ago. Especially since eating Courfeyrac’s caramel popcorn is a rather noisy and sticky affair. Not that Courfeyrac seems to be finishing his, come to think of it.

Marius glances sideways at him and to his surprise Courfeyrac’s eyes are very round and rather wet.

On the screen spectral hands stop just shy of touching their flesh-and-blood counterparts and Courfeyrac makes a sorrowful noise at the back of his throat.

“Are you okay?” Marius asks, slightly alarmed.

“Yes,” Courfeyrac swallows. “It’s just… It’s  _sad_.”

Marius blinks. People die in Courfeyrac’s movies all the time, gratuitously so.

Courfeyrac sniffs and says in a voice that sounds dangerously wobbly: “They’ll never get to be together again.”

“But she knows he didn’t forget her now,” Marius points out cautiously. “That he didn’t leave her on purpose.” He loves the ending of this story. It’s painful, but so bittersweet and beautiful. So very, deeply romantic. Lovers that never get to kiss and will love each other for ever even so…

“He never even got to hold her,” Courfeyrac hiccups and there are actual tears rolling down his cheeks now.

Marius gives him a helpless look. He never meant to make Courfeyrac  _cry_.  He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Courfeyrac cry. Not like this.

“I’m sorry,” he flounders, thinking of the right thing to say. “We can turn it off if—”

“No!” Courfeyrac protests. “I want to see how it ends, I just- Marius, she can’t even kiss him goodbye.” He wipes at his eyes with his sleeves.

“You really don’t have to finish watching it if you don’t like it, I can tell you how it ends,” Marius offers.

“Are you kidding!” Courfeyrac gasps. “It’s  _beautiful_.” He sniffs loudly and Marius is relieved that he at least didn’t make a bad choice. He really does love this movie.

Light floods the screen, the string section of the music picks up again and tears wash down Courfeyrac’s face before either of the characters has even said a word. But apparently Courfeyrac doesn’t mind crying, so Marius supposes it’s alright. It’s still hard to see though and it feels very strange to not do something about it.

Marius looks at the screen, at the smiles full of star-crossed longing. It  _is_  sad, in a way. Courfeyrac makes that sorrowful noise again and because he has nothing to say anymore, but he does need to do  _something_ , Marius reaches out and wraps his arm around Courfeyrac’s shoulder. Courfeyrac makes the noise again, but he leans into Marius embrace, resting his wet face against his shoulder for a moment before looking back at the screen. So Marius just hugs him close and lets him cry, smiling a little in spite of himself. He is glad when Courfeyrac manages to laugh through his tears during the finale though, because while Marius is certainly more than happy to be holding Courfeyrac, he’s much more used to being shaking with laughter than with sobs and he’d really like to keep it that way.


	3. Enj & Ferre Comfort Hug

Enjolras pushes his increasingly frizzy hair out of his face for the third time in two minutes and finally gives in and walks to the bathroom in quest of a hair tie. Moving during the hottest part of summer is definitely not ideal, but at least they’ll be well and truly settled in before classes start.

Enjolras is looking forward to his first year of uni. He’s still glad he took a year off to go volunteer, but he’s equally eager to start life as a student. And with Combeferre as his roommate too! That makes everything better to be honest. If he hadn’t gone abroad, he never would have met him.

Speaking of Combeferre, it is strangely quiet in the rest of the new apartment. Of course everything would feel quiet after the recent departure of Courfeyrac, who had come over to help, but even with the sudden absence of his chatter, this is rather  _too_  quiet.

“Ferre?” Enjolras calls out.

There’s no answer, but since the kitchen and living room are empty and Enjolras is coming from the bathroom, Combeferre must still be in his own bedroom. Sure enough, when Enjolras pushes open the door, which was already slightly ajar, Combeferre is standing in the middle of his room, staring at his bookcase.

It’s very impressive, organized according to a meticulous system that makes perfect sense to Combeferre  and Combeferre alone (it factors in themes and genres as well as author’s names and the aesthetic properties of the books). Something must be wrong with it, though, because Combeferre is frowning at it like it insulted his entire bloodline.

“Everything alright in here?” Enjolras tries.

Combeferre starts, clearly having not even heard him before. “Yes,” he says hastily, but Enjolras can hear the frustration twisting in his voice. “I’m fine. It’s—”

Enjolras walks up to him and follows his line of sight. In the middle of a row of nicely uniform, brightly coloured paperbacks, is a single hardcover. It’s clearly part of the same series, but it just as clearly stands out like a sore thumb. It doesn’t fit.

There are moments when Combeferre’s reasoning puzzles Enjolras exceedingly. This is not one of those moments. “The book’s bothering you,” he says.

“It’s  _ridiculous_ ,” Combeferre bursts out, turning towards Enjolras with sudden energy. “I  _know_  it’s ridiculous and I’ve had that damn book for years but every time I arrange them anew, I—” He makes a deeply resentful sound that seems to come from the very core of his soul and he glares at the bookcase with renewed anger.

Enjolras glances round the room. There’s nothing but empty boxes left, Combeferre’s unpacking must have gone a lot faster than Enjolras’. “How long have you been standing here,” he asks earnestly.

Combeferre doesn’t answer him. That means he either doesn’t know or that he doesn’t want Enjolras to know. Both are equally telling.

“Come on,” Enjolras says, smiling, and he puts an arm around Combeferre’s shoulder, turning him away from the offending bookcase. “We should order some food or something.”

“Yeah,” Combeferre frowns.

“If you stare at that book any longer you’ll make it combust,” Enjolras tells him.

“I wish it would,” Combeferre mutters darkly and half a beat later he lets out a groaning laugh. “God I’m impossible,” he breathes and Enjolras laughs, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze.

“Only every other day,” he says, managing to keep a straight face. “Which is good, it means we can take turns.”

Combeferre snorts and turns away from the book case, further into Enjolras’ embrace. He leans against him for a moment, making a very tired, but at least half-amused grumbling noise.

Enjolras hugs him tighter, warm weather be damned, and smiles quietly to himself. At least he knows what to get for Combeferre’s next birthday.


	4. ExR Surprise Hug

Enjolras is smiling at the sound of Grantaire’s singing before he is even consciously aware of hearing it. He looks up from his work in pleasant surprise, getting to his feet as soon as he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked. Grantaire is still singing as he comes inside and Enjolras literally cannot help the smile on his face. He walks to the hallway and Grantaire turns around to see him standing in the doorway.

“Oh look,” he sighs, stopping halfway through taking off his coat to grin at him. “It’s the love of my life.”

Enjolras makes a fond scoffing noise and happily accepts the greeting kiss Grantaire presses on his lips.

“How was Madeleine today?” he asks while Grantaire hangs up his coat.

“It was Mathieu today,” Grantaire corrects, once again making Enjolras despair at the surplus of M-names. Grantaire grins at him. “And he was brilliant.”

“That’s good,” Enjolras says happily. Grantaire is rarely in this good a mood when he comes back from tutoring.

“Kid’s been stuck on integrals for weeks,” Grantaire says proudly. “But he’s got it now.” He grins even wider. “The triumph on his face, Enj. Seriously.”

Enjolras says nothing, instead following Grantaire into the living room and listening elatedly to Grantaire continue:

“I’m so fucking proud of him. You know what I heard him tell his mom as I was packing up?”

“What?” Enjolras grins. There’s a light and energy in Grantaire’s eyes that’s usually reserved for when he’s surrounded by friends and temporarily free of responsibilities.

“He said: ‘Math is a lot easier if you don’t have to like it, R hates math as much as I do and he’s really good at it.’ His mother was too damn happy to hear him say anything positive about it to even try and disagree.”

Grantaire beams triumphantly and Enjolras smiles back at him. His boyfriend has the strangest relationship to his chosen subject. Love-hate doesn’t even begin to describe it. But he’s positively beaming right now and Enjolras can’t get enough of it.

“I’m going to teach a whole army of kids to be good at calculus out of spite,” Grantaire proclaims.

Enjolras laughs. Grantaire’s energy is downright contagious.

“Watch me train them to  _beat_  algebra into submission.” He grins again, eyes sparking. “I could make a career out of this. ‘Hating math’, it’s the hip new—Oof!” He lets out a surprised breath when Enjolras suddenly throws his arms around him and hugs him tight.

This is an unwanted side-effect, because Enjolras really wants Grantaire to keep talking, but he had to do something with all this appreciative happiness building up inside him.

Grantaire hugs him back, arms strong around Enjolras’ waist. “What’s that for?” he grins.

“I’ve never heard you so enthusiastic about your work,” Enjolras says honestly, pulling away a little to look at him. The warm happiness in his chest is all mixed up with pride and Enjolras really hopes that his face can express all that.

“Well,” Grantaire smiles, almost sheepishly. “No, I suppose not.”

Their arms are still wrapped loosely around each other and Enjolras feels like he can bask in Grantaire’s glow right now.

“Tell me about your revolutionary new teaching method,” he coaxes.

The corner of Grantaire’s mouth quirks back up. “Well, it starts with disrespecting Pythagoras,” he says decidedly.

“Of course it does,” Enjolras grins.


	5. Courf/Ferre Leaping Hug

Combeferre has excellent peripheral vision. He needs it. When he’s driving, he has a strict no-distractions policy (which means  Bahorel and Grantaire never get to ride shotgun with him), but when he’s walking he has his eyes turned on a book, a paper, or his phone more often than not. Jehan calls the fact that he’s never walked into anything yet one of his ‘little magics’, Joly calls it a bad habit that’s going to get him hurt. Courfeyrac however—

“Can you hand me a hammer?”

Combeferre reaches for the hammer on the table without looking up from his tablet and holds it up for Courfeyrac to take from where he’s balanced on top of the arm rest of the couch.

“Thank you, cariño,” Courfeyrac hums happily. “Can you give me a nail too?”

Combeferre fishes a nail out of what was once a jam jar and holds it up with one hand, scrolling to the next paragraph with the other. The nail is plucked from his finger and is followed immediately by the cheerful sounds of Courfeyrac resuming his task hanging up a string of little paper lanterns.

This is their first shared apartment and although it is by no means new anymore, today they finally have time to host a proper housewarming. Which is why Combeferre spent a considerable part of the morning tiding and why Courfeyrac is now bouncing around making ‘essential improvements’.

“Please don’t fall,” Combeferre mutters, frowning at the closing section of the article while Courfeyrac jumps from the couch onto a chair placed in front of their tallest bookcase to drape the string of lights further.

“I never do,” Courfeyrac says merrily.

“That’s debatable,” Combeferre smiles.

“Don’t doubt me,” his boyfriend scolds. “Hand me another nail instead.”

So Combeferre walks through the apartment, vaguely following Courfeyrac around and speed-reading through the last article on his list. He wants this done so he can actually enjoy himself tonight.

“Ferre?”

“Hm?” he hums. Nearly done.

“Ferre, you’re gonna have to put down your reading for this.”

“What do you need?” he asks distractedly.

“I need you to put the tablet away,” Courfeyrac says, amusement warm in his voice.

“Alright,” he mutters. “I will, I just—” He checks the notes at the end just to be sure if there’s anything of importance (there isn’t) and puts the tablet down on the nearest bookshelf. “What was it you—”

Combeferre has a split second after raising his head to raise his arms as well, because that is how long it takes Courfeyrac to jump off the fauteuil he was perched on and straight into Combeferre’s arms.

“I’m done!” he cheers, warms wrapped firmly around the slightly staggering Combeferre’s neck.

“Good,” Combeferre says, smiling down at Courfeyrac’s beaming face and hugging him close. “This was a long time coming.”

“Far too long,” Courfeyrac agrees and if curls could bounce with happiness, his most certainly would.


	6. Grantaire & Cosette Angry Hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: angry venting and swearing

Grantaire nearly falls off his chair when the front door bursts open. He should really remember to lock the door. He manages to keep his balance, just, and is greeted by Cosette. Well, if he goes by a loose definition of the word.

“Is Éponine here?”

Cosette’s face is oddly strained and Grantaire feels the instinctive need to make his movements slow and cautious when he gets to his feet. “Um, no, she’s not back yet.”

There’s a tense beat of silence.

“Okay,” Cosette says and Grantaire is sure she is clenching her teeth. “That’s fine.”

“This may be exactly the wrong question—” Grantaire says hesitantly, taking in the way her shoulders are locked in place. “But are you okay?”

Cosette looks at him, all soft curves and pastel colours, and opens her mouth. “I will be,” she says, voice quivering. “As soon as I get to  _fucking_   _strangle my absolutely asshole of a colleague to death with his own fucking hair_.”

Grantaire blinks. “I see.”

“And he goddamn deserves it!” Cosette yells. There are sparks snapping from her eyes and Grantaire is suddenly very sorry Éponine isn’t here. Not because he minds being witness to this himself, but because she’d probably be really into it.

“I believe you,” he says. “What’d the fucker do?”

Cosette makes a garbled noise and lets go of a flood of words, containing a number of expletives Grantaire really didn’t expect her capable of. He’s pretty sure he’s missing most of the context to her story, but the gist of it is that her only direct colleague at her internship is an incompetent waste of space that has recently fucked up so badly that Cosette Fauchelevent of all people is wishing him several violent deaths. Most of them at her hands, some of them contrived through rather creative proxies. It takes a good while, but eventually Cosette’s anger begins to deflate. It’s kind of like watching a fire burning itself out and after a while all there is left is smouldering exhaustion. Grantaire feels like he has been allowed to witness something rare and incredible.

“So, when do you need help disposing of the body?” he asks.

A smile flickers on Cosette’s face. He grins at her and her shoulders sag.

“I am so done with this,” she groans.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” he nods and because it seems like she could use someone to actually physically lean on just now, he opens his arms invitingly and gives her a questioning look.

Cosette lets out a breathy laugh and walks into the offered hug. “He pulls this shit again and I will kill him,” she grunts, voice slightly muffled against Grantaire’s shoulder.

He hugs her a little tighter and she hugs back with the last of her angry energy.

“I  _will_ ,” she insists.

“Me and Ponine will help you do it,” he promises.

Cosette makes a grumpy sound. “You better.”

There’s a short silence and Grantaire feels her relax against him little by little. At length she moves away a little and Grantaire releases her. When Cosette meets his eyes, her tired smile is reassuringly devoid of murderous intentions.

“Thanks, R,” she sighs.

“Anytime,” he says and just to make sure all the tension is done away with he adds: “Offer still stands though.”

Cosette’s mouth quirks up. “Noted and appreciated,” she smiles.


	7. Jehan & Grantaire Greeting Hug

Forgetting his headphones is arguably one of the worst things in existence as far as Grantaire is concerned. At least it always goes right to the top of the list on days that it actually happens to him.

Today it’s not too bad though. Spring is finally setting in and Grantaire is gratefully aware of the absence of his heavy coat. He’s waiting on the sunny campus, surrounded by students who are steadily turning it into a park by treating every patch of available grass as an impromptu lounging spot.

Because of the absence of his regular self-chosen soundtrack, shards of conversation keep drifting past him and Grantaire is actually getting a little philosophical, seeing all these partially entwined lives take place around him. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other unthinkingly and watches a girl try to do a cartwheel in the grass. It’s …pretty, all this. Light-hearted. Like the first real sun of the year has induced a temporary shared illusion of harmony and absence of stress. Or who knows, maybe it’s not an illusion, maybe—

“R!”

Whatever the illusions of life in general, there is nothing more real than Jehan Prouvaire in a summer dress, bounding down the steps of the humanities building. The red of their dress clashes awfully with their hair, but it’s covered in glorious sunflowers and Grantaire does his level best to commit the image of them jumping off the last step to his memory for the rest of time.

He opens his arms with a grin and Jehan, all laughing eyes and flying hair, wraps him into as spine-crushing a hug as their delicate frame can manage. Grantaire’s retaliation is a lot more effective and Jehan lets out a muffled laugh, their face pressed to his chest.

People are giving them amused looks, but Grantaire doesn’t care. He was the one watching just now, he’s more than happy to be part of this collage of spring-induced happiness.

Jehan makes a happy sound as well, tilting their chin up without actually pulling out of the hug so they can smile up at him. Their freckles seem to have at least doubled the last few days and oh how it suits them.

“Hi,” Grantaire grins, looking down into their shining eyes.

“Hi,” Jehan beams back and they squeeze him a little tighter still.

Grantaire makes a series of exaggerated choking noises. “Your greeting hugs are getting increasingly dangerous to my health.”

“I  _missed_ you,” Jehan says, letting go with one arm and turning so they can keep the other tucked around Grantaire’s waist while they both start walking.

“Missed me,” Grantaire laughs, draping an arm around Jehan’s shoulders in return. “You saw me yesterday.”

“I know!” Jehan huffs. “Absolutely unacceptable.”


	8. ExR Hug from Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The anon specifically asked for tall Grantaire and short Enj, so here we go~

Enjolras had thought he was nearly done when Grantaire texted he was on his way over, but of course this is taking longer than he wanted it to. He’s frowning at the collection of articles spread out on his desk, the thoughts in his head clashing drastically with the music Grantaire put on. He knows all this nonsense fits together, it has to. He can make it make sense. If he just—

“Enj, you’ve been at this for  _hours_ ,” Grantaire speaks up.

“I know, I know,” Enjolras groans. “I’m almost done.”

He looks over his shoulder to throw Grantaire an apologetic glance and that was a mistake. Grantaire is dancing, moving to the music in the relaxed, nearly indifferent way he uses when he’s not really trying. It’s a stark contrast to when he  _is_  trying, but even now his actual skill is clearly visible in the way he holds himself. Enjolras likes his dancing best this way, and not just because Grantaire’s hair is a mess and he’s moving his shoulders and hips just so that his t-shirt rides up a little. It’s the laid-back effortlessness. He loves seeing that. It’s beautiful.

Grantaire turns around and Enjolras looks away just too late.

A grin sparks in Grantaire’s eyes. “Time to let situational ethics be?”

“No,” Enjolras winces, turning back to his work. “I’m  _nearly_  done.”

“Looks to me like you’re trying to stare these theories into compliance,” Grantaire hums, walking over with steps that still follow the rhythm of the music. “And I can see that working with Jurisprudence maybe, but certainly not ethics.”

Enjolras sighs and rubs at his forehead. “I wish it was jurisprudence,” he mutters. And that is saying something.

“Take a little distance,” Grantaire coaxes. “Dance with me.” He bounces slightly on the balls of his feet and holds his hand out to Enjolras invitingly.

“No…” Enjolras says warily. “No, I’m almost done.” If he dances with Grantaire there will be no more work tonight, they both know that.

“Come on,” Grantaire says, trying to look innocent and inviting and failing rather miserably because of the grin breaking through on his face.

Enjolras looks into his eyes a little too long, but he turns away just in time. He plants his palms on his desk, making his shoulders click in protest when he puts his weight on his arms. “If I don’t sort this out, it’s going to bug me all night.”

“Alright, alright,” Grantaire sighs.

He closes the distance between them and Enjolras is about to protest, but instead of trying to pull him away he comes to stand behind him. He wraps his arms low around Enjolras’ waist and pulls him slightly more upright, leaning his chin on the top of Enjolras’ head and looking at the papers scattered around the desk.

“So,” he hums, blowing at the blonde curls tickling in his face. “What’s the problem.”

“You sure you want to hear?” Enjolras mutters, glaring at a particularly bothersome section of Derrida.

“Always, Apollo,” Grantaire teases. “State your grievances.”

As it turns out, Enjolras finds situational ethics is much less bothersome with his boyfriend wrapped around him. It helps to explain it all and Grantaire has questions that definitely help clear some stuff up. He still doesn’t finish his work of course.

“How do you always do this?” Enjolras laughs, moving rather clumsily as Grantaire tries to spin him round in time with the music.

“How do we always end up dancing?” Grantaire grins. “I’m very persuasive.”

“Obviously,” Enjolras smiles, letting himself be pulled in again, his arms crossed in front of him and his back pressed flush against Grantaire’s chest. “But I meant making me not die of frustration.”

“Oh that,” Grantaire chuckles somewhere just above Enjolras’ ear, swaying left to right with him. “That’s hit and miss really, but I do try.”

Enjolras smiles and leans into him some more. He’s not much of a dancer, but Grantaire makes him want to learn.


	9. Courf/Ferre Hiding Your Face Hug

Meeting Courfeyrac’s family is every bit as overwhelming as Combeferre had thought it would be. He had been well prepared, however, by both Enjolras and Courfeyrac himself, so he is getting through it all relatively well. Besides, Courfeyrac is so happy to be home and so proud to show him off that Combeferre would have put up with a lot worse. At any rate, the overwhelming thing about the de Courfeyrac family is how exuberantly friendly they all are and that’s hardly a thing Combeferre feels entitled to complain about.

Still, it  _is_  overwhelming, and Combeferre is kind of glad when Courfeyrac pulls him out through the kitchen doors and into the dusky garden after dinner.

“Well done for surviving dinner,” Courfeyrac grins, entwining his fingers with Combeferre’s and pulling him towards a garden bench flanked by well-tended roses.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much,” Combeferre says, smiling incredulously. He’s beginning to understand where Courfeyrac learned to eat as much as he sometimes does though. For someone his size he can eat alarming quantities when he feels like it.

“Mmm,” Courfeyrac sighs happily. “Tastes of home.”

Combeferre sits down on the bench and Courfeyrac looks up at the sky where a few stars are visible in the partially cloudy sky.

“Which one is that?” he asks.

“You know I don’t know that,” Combeferre smiles.

“Shh,” Courfeyrac says. “Yes you do. Tell me what constellation it’s from.”

Combeferre knows the sort of thing Courfeyrac likes to hear, but he’s sparing with indulging him. When it comes to astronomical inaccuracies at least, he’s embarrassingly prone to letting Courf have his way in most other matters. “I think it’s from the sign of the hidden lovers,” he answers.

“Really?” Courfeyrac says, his smile just visible in the near dark. “Is that a good sign to kiss under?”

He leans forward, standing in front of Combeferre close enough for his legs to bump into his knees and Combeferre raises his face to Courfeyrac’s. He can feel Courfeyrac’s curls tickle against his forehead for a moment before their lips meet, softly at first and then more eagerly when Courfeyrac leans into the kiss. Combeferre has just raised a hand to grab Courfeyrac by the front of his shirt when there’s a burst of warm light from the kitchen door opening.

“They’re here, Mamá!” one of Courfeyrac’s brothers calls out deliberately. “Just making out in the garden, that’s all.”

Combeferre froze as soon as the light reached his eyes, but Courfeyrac pulls away to yell something at his brother in severely vexed Spanish. The door closes again to the sound of loud laughter and Courfeyrac lets out a huff.

“Oh my god,” Combeferre groans and he leans forward, hiding his face against Courfeyrac’s stomach.

“Are you  _blushing_?” Courfeyrac laughs, his arms wrapping around Combeferre and one hand feeling the heat radiating from his neck.

Combeferre makes a muffled noise of embarrassment. This is terrible.

“Shall we go back inside then?” Courfeyrac says, swallowing a giggle.

“No?” Combeferre mutters. Courfeyrac clearly doesn’t care, but all he can think of is his sister walking in on them like that and he just can’t.

“Alright,” Courfeyrac says amusedly, stroking through Combeferre’s short hair. “But just so you know, as long as we’re out here they’re definitely going to think we’re still snogging.”

Whatever Combeferre has to say to that is lost in the sound of Courfeyrac’s laughter, which is probably for the best.


	10. Triumvirate Group Hug

It has taken Combeferre quite a long time to figure it out, but there is a very specific variety of circumstances in which Courfeyrac switches languages. Hearing him drop his English for Spanish always makes Combeferre take notice for a moment, wanting to know which language switch it is exactly.

It happens mostly on the phone of course and eight out of ten times it’s just because he’s speaking to one of his grandparents. Enjolras can basically tell which of his family members Courfeyrac is talking to at any time judging solely from his way of speaking, but he’s had years of practice. Combeferre does not yet have such expertise, but right this moment he is very sure of two things. One, Courf is talking to one of his brothers, and two, he’s very upset.

Combeferre glances at Enjolras, who is still installed behind his laptop, but clearly listening to Courfeyrac as well. Combeferre wishes he understood anything beyond the very clearly conveyed emotions of being “absolutely appalled” and “extremely indignant”, which are both traditional Courfeyrac states of being, but not the ones Combeferre likes to see. He looks at Enjolras again, who gives him a small shrug. Clearly he’s not sure either. He doesn’t seem all that bothered though, which is strange to Combeferre because Courf is raising his voice more and more and it’s kind of distressing.

When Courfeyrac – who’s been wandering through the apartment, voice drifting from one room to another – finally returns to the living room, phone back in his pocket, he doesn’t look upset though. He is beaming.

“Elías and Maya are having twins!” he announces triumphantly and that is the  _last_  thing Combeferre was expecting to hear.

He stares at him, dumbfounded.

“That great!” Enjolras says happily, closing his laptop immediately and focussing his full attention on Courfeyrac. “Congratulations!”

Courfeyrac grins even wider, his face full of family adoration.

“But, then what were you so upset about?” Combeferre asks.

“Oh!” Courfeyrac huffs and he tosses his head back angrily. “Elías says since I was godfather for Noémie, it can’t be my turn again. I mean come on.  _Twins_. He has no right to take that away from me.”

Combeferre blinks in stupefaction and Enjolras laughs out loud.

“What?” Courfeyrac asks, looking between his two friends with a puzzled expression.

Combeferre shakes his head. One day he’ll learn to hear the difference between upset and Upset. He  _has_  to learn. Or this is going to become a far too frequent occurrence.

Enjolras is still laughing and Combeferre isn’t at all sure if he’s laughing at Courfeyrac or at  _him_.

“Seriously, what did I say?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Ferre thought you were having a fight with your brother,” Enjolras helpfully points out.

Courfeyrac looks up at him in surprise. “Oh! Oh no! Well, we  _will_ have a fight if he doesn’t come to his senses.”

“Congratulations, Courf,” Combeferre laughs.

“Aw, you were worried about me,” Courfeyrac gushes and he hurries over to wrap his arms around Combeferre. “You needn’t be.” He reaches out blindly with one arm to pull Enjolras into the hug as well and Enjolras is nice enough to just get up and come over.

“Save your worries for my brother,” Courfeyrac says, dropping his voice to a sinister, low tone, despite it being endearingly muffled by his being cosily squashed between his friends. “He hasn’t heard the last of this.”

Combeferre looks at Enjolras over the top of Courfeyrac’s curly head and laughs silently. He needs lessons in either Spanish or in Courfeyracese. He really does.


	11. ExR Hug with a Kiss

“Have we got everything?” Enjolras asks, running his hand through his hair distractedly for the millionth time.

Combeferre ran through the checklist one last time. “Three cars, all packed. Snacks, directions-”

“Car sickness medication for Joly and Courf,” Musichetta supplies. “Water, first-aid kits.“

“Look,” Grantaire grins. “We have Ferre and Chetta, parent-pals extraordinaire. Nothing could possibly happen to us.”

“Fine,” Enjolras laughs. They’ve never been on a road trip all together like this though, he’s allowed to be a little nervous.

“Everyone has music,” Courfeyrac chimes in.

“Everyone has a designated music manager,” Jehan grins (they have claimed that spot for R’s car).

“And everyone’s here on time,” Combeferre smiles. “Which is kind of miraculous.”

“I can see you looking at me, but I was not the last one this time,” Bossuet grins.

“Alright, alright,” Enjolras says. “We’re ready to go then.”

“Right then!” Musichetta raises her voice. “Everyone in their seats!”

What follows is a scrambling game of switch places while everyone remembers to what car (or in Bahorel’s case van) they were assigned to Combeferre.

“Wait!” Grantaire calls out, making Enjolras turn round. “Wait, I forgot something.”

“What?” Enjolras asks.

“Something very important,” Grantaire says, walking up to him. “Here.” And he catches him by his hand, pulling him into a hug.

“Mmf!” Enjoras exhales noisily, bending forward on unsteady feet as Grantaire pulls him slightly downward by his jacket.

“It’s a road trip, not a protest march,” Grantaire mutters close by his ear, fondness clearly audible in his voice. “Relax.”

Enjolras smiles, leaning heavily against Grantaire for a moment.

“Better,” Grantaire hums and he presses a kiss to the corner of Enjolras’ mouth.

When they let go several of their friends are doing a bad job of not smirking and Enjolras is pretty sure Courfeyrac is just holding his phone behind his back.

“With that very important item checked off the list, are we ready to set off?” Musichetta asks, her mouth quirking to one side.

“Yup,” Grantaire grins. “All set.”

And he runs up to his own car while Enjolras climbs into Musichetta’s, smiling through the blush on his cheeks.


	12. R & Chetta Comfort Hug

Grantaire is no longer late for things as often as he used to be. Certainly not things he cares about. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s gotten into the habit of arriving  _early_. Tonight he is though, the first to arrive at the Musain. Mostly because he came straight here from class.

If he had gone home in between, he wouldn’t have come at all.

Grantaire is beat. Too tired to joke with the barista to compensate for the jerk of a customer in line before him, too tired to do much of anything but sit down and stare at his coffee. He  _knows_  seeing his friends will make him feel better. Bahorel will jostle against him, Jehan will kiss his cheek, Feuilly will ask him how his latest project is coming along, Enjolras will smile and he’ll feel better. He knows this. But right now he feels like he barely has the energy to sit here, let along interact with people he cares about. People who deserve—

There’s a touch on the back of his chair and Grantaire lifts his head to look up, fighting for an acceptable facial expression.

Familiar eyes meet his and Grantaire sags in relief. It’s Musichetta. And she’s alone. Also just arrived from work, judging from her appearance.

“Mm,” she hums, glancing at his untouched cup and one of her hands comes to rest on his shoulder, squeezing slightly as she drops her bag onto a vacant chair. “Fog or sludge?” she asks and Grantaire swallows down a sentence of badly articulated thankfulness and answers:

“Sludge.”

He draws himself to his feet, pushing the chair back and Musichetta doesn’t ask anything else, she just opens her arms.

Grantaire leans against her, letting his own arms hang heavily and Musichetta wraps him in a hug.

They are as good as the same height, but Grantaire has been convinced that Musichetta is somehow capable of tapping into some arcane comforting power to make herself bigger. She seems to be able to wrap herself fully around him, feels capable of supporting his full weight if need be and she holds him with the promise of not letting go until he does. Grantaire buries his face in her shoulder and mutters some wordless sounds of appreciation. Musichetta hums in returns and lifts one arm just enough to stroke his hair a little. The noise of the café seems oddly muted for a moment and then it comes back. In a pleasant way. Not jarringly close or draggingly distant, but just like a space to be in. A space that’s going to be filled with friends.

Grantaire is beginning to feel like he’s capable of standing on his own two feet again, but he doesn’t want to yet. Musichetta’s hugs are kind of timeless, but he stretches it a little longer. When he does pull away, she studies his face for a moment, using the very particular look she reserves for when she’s fussing over the people she loves.

“Did you have anything proper to eat today?”

Grantaire’s mouth is pulling into a grin before he even realises it. “Yes, Mom,” he says.

“Just checking,” she hums, giving a flounce of her shoulders.

There is a sudden burst of joyful noise at the door and Grantaire turns besides Musichetta to see about half their friends stumbling inside, bringing a surge of energy with them as well as their cheerful chatter. Grantaire smiles.

“Perfect timing,” Musichetta says contentedly. She links her arm with his and pulls him to the corner of the café where the couches are, giving him just enough time to grab his steadily cooling coffee.

“Left or right?” she asks, gesturing between two couches.

“Left,” Grantaire says and they fall down on the biggest of the two, choosing to sit in the middle by unspoken agreement. This way there is room for Jehan on his side and room for Bossuet and Joly on hers.

“There we go,” Musichetta says, tucking one arm around his shoulders and adjusting her skirt with the other.

“You’re kind of scary in your work clothes, you know that?” Grantaire chuckles, leaning against her affectionately as he finally takes the first sip of his coffee.

“I think you’ll find I look professional yet approachable,” Musichetta informs him. “Isn’t that right, Ferre?”

“Hm?” Combeferre hums, putting down a bag that must contain at least half a bookstore and leaning down to greet them both.

“Don’t you agree I look professional yet approachable?” Musichetta chimes.

Combeferre’s gaze crosses Grantaire’s and Grantaire gives him a tired grin, slumped contently against Musichetta’s side. Combeferre smiles.

“I’m not so sure about  _approachable_ ,” he says amusedly, sitting down on a nearby chair. “You look like you’d snarl at anyone that gets too close to R.”

Grantaire laughs, because it is suddenly easy to laugh again and Musichetta snorts softly.

“Well obviously,” she says dismissively. “But only because I fully intend to.”


	13. Éponine, Cosette & Chetta Celebratory Hug

Time is an inconsiderate jerk for dragging so. Éponine feels like she’s losing her mind.

“What’s  _taking_ so long?” she groans at her knees, doubled over like a piece of folded paper on the uncomfortable lounge chair.

“Interviews taking long is a good sign,” Musichetta says reassuringly. She’s leafing idly through one of the magazines she found on the side table and looking way too composed.

Éponine makes a non-distinct sound that is nowhere near good enough to express her frustration with the current situation and closes her eyes. Cosette wants this job so badly. They  _have_  to give it to her. “If they reject her…” she begins darkly, opening her eyes.

“They won’t,” Musichetta hums, turning a page. “And if they do, we know enough lawyers to frame them for something really nasty.”

Éponine looks up. Musichetta still surprises her sometimes. “Yeah, okay,” she says. “I can work with that.”

Musichetta smirks slightly and puts the magazine aside. “Stop biting your nails, love, she’ll get the job. These people were already impressed with her on the phone, I bet they were sold the minute she stepped through the door.”

“They better be,” Éponine grits. Cosette  _deserves_  this. She deserves everything. She—

“Well, I’ll be waiting to hear from you then!”

Éponine sits bolt upright and stares down the corridor. She knows exactly what door Cosette went in and her back is visible in the same doorway now. She’s still talking, but Éponine’s ears don’t seem to work properly. She can mostly hear her own heartbeat in them. Beside her Musichetta has tensed up as well, betraying a distinct loss of the easy confidence she showed before.

“Thank you very much.” 

The door closes and Cosette’s footsteps click down the hallway towards them.

Éponine gets to her feet. Cosette’s expression is unreadable. Her face is all composed blushes and inviting pleasantness. But her steps go faster and faster as comes towards her and Éponine is starting to smile helplessly because Cosette looks  _happy_.

The last steps she takes are almost running and she clearly has to make a great effort to keep her voice down when she gulps: “I’ve got it! They’re still arguing about my contract, but I’ve got it!”

“ _Fuck_  yes,” Éponine breathes and she throws her arms around her girlfriend and pulls her into a crushing hug. “Oh my god. Well  _done_ , Zette.”

Cosette makes a muffled noise of triumph, hugging Éponine back as hard as she can.

“Cosette that’s amazing,” Éponine gulps, feeling as if she’s going to burst with shared happiness. “You worked so hard.”

She stops talking when Cosette pulls out of the hug and just in time too, because Cosette beams up at her for all of a split second before kissing her full on her mouth.

“Ahem, maybe save that for the car?”

They break apart guiltily and they both turn red under Musichetta’s amused smile.

“Um, yes,” Cosette says, smoothing her blouse and Éponine takes a single moment to remind herself that professional clothes look a  _lot_ cuter when they’re slightly rumpled.

“Congratulations,honey,” Musichetta beams, hugging Cosette with one arm and using the other to herd Éponine towards the door. “We knew you’d dazzle them.”

“Thank you,” Cosette beams. She positively glowing. “And thank you for coming with,” she sighs, grabbing Éponine’s hand and squeezing happily.

Éponine swallows around the happy lump in her throat. “Couldn’t have kept me away,” she says. And she means that with every fibre of her being.


	14. Enjolras & Feuilly Hug from Behind

Enjolras turns the pages of the book wearily, eyes scanning the lines. “Nothing.”

“I’m sure it was that book,” Feuilly says distractedly, looking over his own notes for the seventh time in the span of fifteen minutes.

They’re preparing for a meeting with the city council. Have been preparing for most of the night actually and they’re all tired.

“Maybe this is a sign that it’s time to go to bed,” Courfeyrac tries, glancing at Combeferre, who is on his fifth cup of coffee. At least.

The other three make vague humming noises, but give no real reply. Enjolras knows Courfeyrac is right, they should be well-rested as well as well-prepared. But if they can just get a little more information… He makes a frustrated noise and taps the book in disgust, as if he can force the correct passage onto the page.

I  _still_  can’t find it, Feuilly.”

“Let me look,” Feuilly hums and he turns around from where he was pacing up and down with his papers, throwing them on the nearest chair and leaning towards Enjolras.

“You said it was page fifty-three,” Enjolras says tiredly.

“Thirty-five,” Feuilly shakes his head. “Here.” He reaches over Enjolras’ shoulder, turning the pages.

“Oh,” he hums. “No, apparently not.”

Enjolras moves his head to the side so Feuilly can see better and holds the book up while Feuilly leans over him some more, frowning at the chapter title.

There is a distinct artificial shutter sound and they both look to their left.

Courfeyrac is smirking at his phone. “Well,” he says smugly. “At least this night has produced one Good Thing.”

“It has produced many good things,” Enjolras argues, but Feuilly is laughing in his ear and he can’t help smiling.

“Yeah, good things, maybe,” Courfeyrac says. “But Good Things are a different matter.”

Feuilly laughs again and wraps his arms properly around Enjolras, hugging him from behind as well as he can with the back of the chair still in the way.

“How’s this?” he says and Enjolras smiles, letting go of the book with one hand to squeeze Feuilly’s arm affectionately.

Courfeyrac takes another picture, accompanied by the approving laughter of Combeferre in the background. “Very good. Now hurry up and find that damn thing you can’t find so we can all get some sleep.”


	15. Courf/Ferre Hiding Your Face Hug

After a couple of parties that ended in…less than ideal circumstances (both treasured memories now, but still) Mme Houcheloup had decided that there would be no more “intimate get-togethers” hosted at the Musain. Luckily the owner of the Corinth had not yet issued such decrees, something Courfeyrac is very thankful for, because some parties simply require an out-of-house setting.

This party, for instance, is infinitely better for being held at the Corinth. For a start, people are dancing instead of lounging. There is energy buzzing in the air and Courfeyrac really doesn’t need the drink he just fetched to lift his spirits even higher. All his friends are here and the entire evening so far there have been no frictions, no debates, nothing to defuse or avert. There’s fun in a good piece of drama, but something about seeing all of them as one big happy group, even Marius dancing (through the combined efforts of Éponine and Cosette) and even Enjolras and Montparnasse getting along (not that they have much room to not get along, with their respective partners wrapped around them like they are). Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet are slow dancing at a pace that’s acceptable for Joly and simultaneously keeps Bossuet far away from Bahorel and Feuilly, whose dancing is a little too athletic and might result in hands or feet getting in the way of innocent passers-by. It’s practically perfect in every way.

“Since when do you allow sneaking off to hide in corners?”

Courfeyrac turns around, grinning. Now it’s perfect.

“I’m not hiding,” he says, tapping his boyfriend – no  _fiancé_  – on the chest. “I’m watching.”

Combeferre smiles. “Shall I watch with you then?”

“You can,” Courfeyrac says, bubbles of happiness dancing in his chest. “But I’d rather you dance with me.” He drains the remainder of his drink and sets the glass down on the bar, pulling Combeferre towards the others on the dance floor. There’s an approving shout from Grantaire and Courfeyrac throws his arms up, turning towards Combeferre and laughing approvingly when Combeferre loops his arms around his waist. They don’t dance together often enough. That doesn’t mean they don’t dance together often, it’s just not enough. It’s never enough as far as Courfeyrac is concerned. He pulls Combeferre a little closer.

“You’re wearing that vest I like,” he murmurs, looking up at him.

“Hmm,” Combeferre hums, eyes twinkling.

Courfeyrac beams and he feels all light inside as well. He spins around, winking at Marius in the process and turns right back into Combeferre’s arms. Combeferre takes his hand and spins him again, letting go so Courfeyrac can actually whirl properly. This time he takes the opportunity to laugh at Enjolras, who is temporarily free of Grantaire. This is a wonderful evening, everything—

The music stops and Courfeyrac looks up in surprise. The lights brighten and shine in his eyes. “What’s g—” As soon as he turns around his voice trails off in a soft sound of bewilderment.

Combeferre is holding a marigold out to him, standing startlingly elegantly with the other arm gracefully behind his back.

“Ferre…?” Courfeyrac says slowly, taking the flower and glancing around at the circle of grinning friends around him. “What are you—”

Before he can finish Combeferre kneels, looking up at Courfeyrac with his dark eyes full of shine from the bright overhead lights.

“I don’t have a ring for you—” he begins and Courfeyrac feels the startled thrill in his chest jump into his throat. “—because we’re getting married soon and I don’t think either of us would want to wear anything other than our matching rings…”

Courfeyrac shakes his head and then nods, because he barely knows which one makes more sense at this moment. He clutches the flower and Combeferre smiles at him.

“But even so. I love you, I have loved you and I will love you, and I just wanted to ask you: will you marry me?”

Courfeyrac moves his lips without managing to produce a sound. He bends over and grabs Combeferre’s arm, his face hot with happiness and surprise.

“I asked  _you_ ,” he protests, pulling Combeferre back to his feet. “I already  _asked_  you.”

“I know,” Combeferre laughs. “And it was perfect. But you kept it low-key for me and I wanted to do high-key for you. Well, kind of high-key anyway.”

“You…” Courfeyrac bites his lip. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

“You haven’t said yes yet,” Bahorel reminds him helpfully.

“ _Yes_ ,” Courfeyrac laughs. “Of course it’s yes, you—”

He’s interrupted by the eruption of cheers around him and the distinct sound of champagne being popped. The music starts again, blasting Good Day Sunshine and Combeferre laughs out loud. Courfeyrac laughs too, makes a helpless sound and slumps forward, hiding his face against Combeferre’s chest. Combeferre wraps his arms around him and mutters something into Courfeyrac’s curls that he can’t quite hear over the music.

“I love you,” he says, loudly, but still muffled by the fabric Combeferre’s vest. “So much.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Combeferre says, a smile warming up his voice.

Courfeyrac pulls away. His cheeks really hurt. He’s still holding the flower and god he’s so in love he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Luckily Bahorel picks that moment to push a glass of champagne into his hand. Because there’s a toast. In the interest of being high-key, Courfeyrac guesses. Combeferre’s version of high-key. Which apparently means all their friends raising glasses and both their hearts skipping in time to the Beatles. Courfeyrac beams up at his fiancé – twice over now – with eyes as bright as the marigold. Combeferre’s version of high-key is exactly high enough.


	16. Jehan/Parnasse First Hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cw: alcohol

“No more for Jehan,” Éponine says jokingly, patting them on their head where they are sitting on the floor, leaning against Grantaire’s legs.

“Who made you mom for the evening?” Jehan teases. They haven’t actually had that much to drink, but they’re tired enough that it has hit them a little harder than usual. It’s lovely to have a proper night off after literal weeks of almost all work and no play. Grantaire always has good rosé in stock and they’re so wonderfully fuzzy around the edges now.

“Ah, they don’t have to go home this time,” Grantaire says, reaching out to stoke their hair fondly. “So it’s fine.”

“Alright,” Éponine singsongs from the other end of the room. “But I’m not the one responsible when Zette has complaints about the state of her roommate.”

“Mm I don’t know,” Claquesous drawls from the other couch. He’s lying with his feet slung across Gueulemer’s lap and it’s amusing to Jehan to see how little Gueulemer is bothered by this. “I’m pretty sure you’re responsible for handling Cosette by now.”

Jehan giggles and nudges their head against Grantaire’s hand to make him continue stroking. This evening is practically perfect. It’s just a shame Montparnasse isn’t here. Jehan hasn’t asked after him. He’s Éponine’s friend, not Grantaire’s and they are here to see Grantaire…technically.

“Is Montparnasse still coming or what?” Gueulemer asks suddenly.

“Beats me,” Éponine shrugs. “Never answer his messages until he feels like it.”

Jehan tips their head back until its leaning against Grantaire’s knee and thinks of dark locks falling gracefully in front of green eyes. When Grantaire is busy talking to Éponine they steal his glass from the side table and makes an exaggerated a face at Claquesous when he grins at them.

Perhaps they’re more tired than they thought, because when Jehan is roused by slightly raised voices it seems they have actually dropped off for a moment. They open their eyes just in time to see Montparnasse walk into the living room behind Éponine, greeting Claquesous, Gueulemer and Grantaire in the same breath, but stopping in his tracks when he sees them sitting on the floor.

“We thought you weren’t coming anymore,” Jehan hears themself say, blinking the heaviness from their eyes.

Montparnasse blinks as well, forming his lips into a vague smile. “Fashionably late.”

“Fashionably too late,” Grantaire yawns. “Éponine was just talking about kicking you all out.”

“Some of us have day jobs,” Éponine says meaningfully.

“Yeah, well,” Claquesous groans, stretching his arms above his head. “I told him to come anyway.” He grins. “Cause that means we have a ride now.”

Montparnasse rolls his eyes, but hardly seems bothered. He leans elegantly against the nearest wall, ankles crossed, while Claquesous and Gueulemer get up and gather their things.

Jehan too warm and fuzzy to be really resentful, but they are slightly resentful at this turn of events. Well, at least they got to see him after all. If only for a moment. They get to their feet as well, swaying slightly on their feet, probably more from sleepiness than from the wine.

“Time for bed I think,” Grantaire says, moving off the couch behind them.

“Yes,” Jehan yawns and they turn around and catch Éponine by the arm. “Goodnight, Ponine,” they mutter, leaning against her affectionately for a moment.

“Goodnight, Jehan,” she chuckles.

Claquesous and Gueulemer call goodbyes from the hallway where they are shrugging on their coats, but Montparnasse is still leaning against the wall and when Jehan turns around he is suddenly a lot closer than they thought he was. Jehan looks up at him and it seems the best idea to raise their arms and wrap them around his neck. “Goodnight, Montparnasse,” they mumble against his shoulder.

Montparnasse freezes for a moment, but then his arms move and he carefully hugs them back.

Jehan glows on the inside and they let him go, stepping back with a last parting smile before slumping against Grantaire, who is also conveniently close. They do not quite see the vague blush across Montparnasse’s cheeks and neither do they notice the look Éponine gives him. 

Grantaire barely has time to get them into bed before they fall asleep again. They have wonderful dreams though. Just wonderful.


	17. JBM Group Hug

There are very few things better than coming home on one of Joly’s rare days off. Bossuet had a rather tiring day at the firm, but he’s smiling as soon as he steps through the door. It smells of soup, Mayday is pouring out of the strategically placed speakers of Musichetta’s surprisingly old-school music installation and the heat has been turned up just a little.

“Boss?” Joly’s voice comes from the living room.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Bossuet calls back, hanging up his coat and pushing the door open. Joly is wearing his dinosaur pyjama’s, which wasn’t what he slept in last night, so that means he changed into them on purpose. That makes Bossuet smile even wider.

“Hello,” Joly says, face lit up happily. He gets up from the couch. “How was work?”

Bossuet grimaces. He’s only just started at this job and he wants to do immigration law with his whole soul, but man is he tired.

Joly hums feelingly at him and ambles over, opening his arms for a hug. Bossuet lets his bag slide to the ground and exhales a good deal of the day’s tiredness as Joly’s arms wrap around his waist.

“How was your day?” he mutters happily, leaning his chin on the top of Joly’s head.

“Wonderful,” Joly sighs. “I didn’t do a thing.”

Bossuet is about to say something about that being long overdue, but at that moment there is the distinct sound of the key in the lock of the front door. He lifts up his head, but Joly tightens his grip a little, unwilling to move.

“Welcome home, cara,” Bossuet calls out to her and Musichetta comes straight into the living room.

“Oh,” she smiles, seeing Joly wrapped around Bossuet. “Oh good.”

She slips out of her coat, tossing it onto the couch and crosses the distance between them to claim Bossuet’s other side.

“You’re late, Chetta,” Joly hums concernedly, trying to pull her straight into the hug.

“Tell me about it, there was a flower emergency,” she groans. “Wait a sec.” She kicks off her heels, bringing herself closer to Joly’s height than Bossuet’s. “There, much better,” she sighs and the leans against Bossuet, looping one arm around his waist and wrapping the other around Joly’s shoulders.

Bossuet drapes an arm around her, hooking the hand of his other arm into one of the pockets of Joly’s pyjama pants for stability.

“This is a nice coming home,” Musichetta says appreciatively. She inhales. “Oh, Joly, did you cook already?”

“Yes,” Joly says with a smile. “The soup’s keeping warm on the stove though, so it can wait.”

“I love you both  _so_  much,” Musichetta proclaims.

Bossuet pulls her in a little closer, so he has Joly tucked against one shoulder and Musichetta against the other. If this doesn’t make him the luckiest guy in the world, he doesn’t know what would.


	18. Triumvirate Cuddle Pile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the motto of "if I say it's a hug it counts as a hug"

For all his boundless energy Courfeyrac is not actually that good at staying up late. He’s an early riser instead, the only one in the household actually, which means he’s also the only one with serious objections against his roommates’ current study regime. Staying up for a night out is one thing, staying up three nights in a row poring over books and articles is another entirely and Courfeyrac is not a fan.

“You know this is unhealthy, right?” he mutters, an unusual grumpiness to his voice that he doesn’t like hearing one bit.

“Almost done,” Enjolras mutters vaguely. He’s been saying that for an hour and a half.

“Why don’t you go to bed, Courf,” Combeferre says, tired eyes glancing over the top of his glasses. “You don’t have to stay up with us.”

“Like I can sleep with your typing and Enj’s griping,” Courfeyrac huffs. Combeferre has a ridiculously clunky mechanical keyboard attached to his laptop because ‘it feels more like actually writing’ and Enjolras has never been able to study in silence. Courfeyrac crosses his arms. “I don’t like going to bed while you guys are still up working.”

Combeferre smiles faintly and Enjolras looks up, a little guilty.

“I really am almost done,” he promises.

“Yeah, yeah,” Courfeyrac sighs. “I’ll go make us something to drink.”

He potters to the kitchen and pours the better part of a bottle of milk into a saucepan. If the others are expecting coffee, they can think again. It’s past three in the damn morning.

When he returns with three cups of hot cocoa (extra sugar for him and Enjolras, extra cocoa powder for Combeferre) his two friends are equally thankful and disappointed. Courfeyrac carefully clears away the debris of paper, books and highlighters to make room for their mugs and then stands hesitantly for a moment with his own mug in hand. He could go to bed. He should. But by now he’s so tired he is getting sulky so that’s not happening.

Instead he resolutely climbs over Enjolras’ legs and squeezes in between his two friends on the couch they have made into their studying headquarters.

“Courf…” Enjolras protests distantly, making room for him without taking his eyes off his screen.

“If you’re not going to bed neither am I,” he says stubbornly and he means that, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to sleep. He is tired. It is bedtime. For everyone.

In between sips of his cocoa Courfeyrac lets himself slide more and more sideways on the couch. His friends adjust around him without really paying attention and by the time Combeferre takes notice Courfeyrac’s empty mug has already been placed on the floor and the big blanket draped over the back of the couch has mysteriously descended to drape around all their shoulders instead.

“Is this supposed to be a hint?” Combeferre asks and Courfeyrac opens one eye to peer up at him.

“Not at all,” he says and he puts more of his weight on Enjolras.

“I have to finish this piece,” Enjolras says, putting an arm around Courfeyrac in absent-minded force of habit.

“Sure you do,” Courfeyrac hums and he pulls his feet up on the couch.

Combeferre protests softly when Courfeyrac’s feet press against his leg and he lifts them up by the ankles and places them across his lap instead. “Courf—” he begins, shifting his book to his other hand.

“I’m taking a nap,” Courfeyrac says decidedly. “You could take one with me.” He looks at him accusingly. “You’ve been reading that one page for the last fifteen minutes now.” With some effort he turns his head far enough to look up at Enjolras. “And you’ve been stuck on that paragraph for at least thirty.”

Enjolras looks up from his screen to disagree and Courfeyrac reaches out and presses the off button on his laptop, which he knows Enjolras has set to ‘hibernate’ because he keeps his tabs and pdf’s open for damn weeks.

“Hey!” Enjolras protests.

“Now you and your laptop can  _both_  nap.”

Combeferre flinches under Courfeyrac’s frowning look and puts his book aside before it can be forcibly taken away from him.

“Just for a minute then,” Enjolras says, slumping against Courfeyrac with a sigh.

“Hmm,” Courfeyrac hums and he pulls on Combeferre’s arm until he gives in, drawing his feet up under him and sliding to the side until he is lying behind Courfeyrac and leaning against Enjolras as well.

“I really do want to complete that reading tonight,” he tries, but Courfeyrac can see his eyes blinking heavily behind his classes.

Enjolras is already yawning and Courfeyrac, cuddled up against the both of them, feels the certainty of victory warm his chest.

“Yes, yes,” he says, patting Combeferre’s head and squeezing Enjolras’ arm. “In a minute.”

But a minute later the entire room is silent. Nothing but soft breathing to be heard as the books lie forgotten, the only partially drunk cocoa grows cold, and the tangle of friends on the couch is snugly asleep.


	19. Grantaire & Combeferre First Hug

There are three reasons why the meetings are held at the Musain. The first is that Mme Houcheloup tolerates their noise, the second is that it provides the right amount of space and privacy that they need, and the third is that Combeferre likes it there. He chose this place after all. Enjolras and Courfeyrac both remember it as a mutual decision, but it really wasn’t. The Musain is close to where he has most of his afternoon classes, they serve very good coffee and everybody that works there seems to be at least halfway happy to be there. That is good enough for Combeferre.

Which is why, even though this week’s meeting was yesterday, Combeferre is in there again today. He drops by for a coffee almost every day, either before or after class and it’s not too unusual to see one of his friends there too on occasion. He’s very surprised to see Grantaire though. Even more so because he does  _not_  look like he’s having a good time.

“You don’t understand, I  _must_  have left it behind here.” He sounds genuinely upset and Combeferre can tell Matelote is trying to calm him down.

“It’s not in the lost and found box, but I’m sure if-”

“I need it back, I- It’s  _important_.”

“What’s the matter, can I help?” Combeferre asks, walking up to them.

Matelote looks relieved, but he barely has time to give her a reassuring smile, before Grantaire gives him a hunted look and blurts out:

“I lost a sketchbook.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably from side to side and grimaces. “It’s not…expensive or anything, but there’s work in it that I can’t replicate, and

“Is it blue?” Combeferre interrupts him, with sudden guilty recollection. “Smallish?”

“Yes!” Grantaire says, eyes-widening. “Have you seen it?”

Combeferre hastily opens his bag and pulls out the sketchbook he found yesterday after the meeting. “I thought it was Jehan’s,” he apologizes. “And since I was going to see them today in class anyway I—”

Grantaire doesn’t let him finish. As soon as Combeferre holds out the sketchbook his face floods with intense relief and suddenly – taking Combeferre completely by surprise – he throws his arms around his neck.

“I  _literally_  owe you my  _life_ ,” he says emphatically hugging Combeferre so gratefully that Combeferre laughingly hugs him back.

“No problem,” he says warmly. “Sorry you worried looking for it. Should have guessed it could be yours.”

Grantaire pulls away, the little blue book safely clutched in one hand. He glances from its textured cover to Combeferre’s face and clears his throat. “You - You didn’t look in it then?”

“No?” Combeferre says, frowning slightly. He might have if he hadn’t wrongly assumed it was Jehan’s, only to find out who it might belong to. He wouldn’t like it if someone went rifling through his notebooks. “Of course not.”

“Right,” Grantaire nods. “Thanks.” And oddly enough he looks almost as relieved as he did when he just got it back.


	20. Patron-Minette Group Hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: a touch of anxiety and conflict, because…Patron-Minette.

Gueulemer tips his head back against the back of the couch and closes his eyes to keep from rolling them. He can barely hear his cooking show over Parnasse and Sous’ bickering.

Today was not a good day. Everything turned out well, just about, but they all had a bitch of a time and his friends are not dealing with it particularly well. Claquesous is still on edge, still running in several gears too high and his fidgeting is making Montparnasse obnoxiously antagonizing. If Babet was here, he’d probably give them a smack upside the head and tell them to shut their faces, but he is still out dealing with the politics attached to today’s shit show.

So Gueulemer is stuck watching Claquesous pace around the room, unable to sit still, while Montparnasse is draped in a chair making snide remarks that do a bad job of covering up the tension still locked in his shoulders. None of this is helping. And it’s not like Gueulemer is particularly comfortable at the moment. There’s a reason he’s trying to watch some damn tv.

“It’s not gonna make a difference, you know,” Montparnasse starts up again and Gueulemer can’t listen to this any longer.

He gets to his feet and catches Claquesous by his arm, forcing him to hold still and making an effort to find his eyes behind his tinted glasses. “For fuck’s sake Sous, can you  _please_ —”

Claquesous stares up at him, his expression unguarded in his surprise and the delayed fear on his face hits Gueulemer square in the chest. He shuts his mouth.  _God_  today sucked. He wants to say something. Something that will make Claquesous stop looking so frayed round the edges, but there’s nothing to say.

He didn’t exactly mean to pull Claquesous against him, but his hand was already on his arm and it’s better than trying to talk. Claquesous makes a startled noise, but before Gueulemer can decide to let go, he slumps against him, bowing his head to the top of his forehead leans against Gueulemer’s shoulder. Gueulemer puts an arm around him, holding him near. “Bullshit’s over,” he mutters. “It’s just us now.”

Claquesous doesn’t make a sound, but he doesn’t move either.

Gueulemer looks over at Montparnasse, who is staring at them from his chair, looking way more shaken than he did a moment ago. There’s not even a semblance of a sneer on his face and that is enough for Gueulemer. He reaches out and drags Montparnasse to his feet, pulling him into the hug as well.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Montparnasse protests, but he doesn’t quite draw back.

“Can you shut up for one second,” Gueulemer grunts, almost startling when Claquesous slowly raises one arm to hug him back.

Montparnasse makes an odd sound at the back of his throat and he leans into them both.

In the background the tv is still blabbering, but it’s nothing but noise now. Gueulemer lets out a slow breath and closes his eyes again, but this time to feel the weight of Montparnasse and Claquesous against him. They’re all here, they’re all fine. In an impulse he hugs them both closer and Montparnasse loops his arms around the both of them in response, at least as far as he can reach. His position is almost a mirror of Claquesous’ now and they are both definitely not supporting all their weight with their own feet anymore. Gueulemer doesn’t mind. He can stay like this for a while. You know, just this once.


	21. ExR Comfort Hug

“No, I understand.”

Grantaire can  _hear_  the polite grimace in Enjolras’ voice. He puts his tablet and pencil away and gets to his feet.

“Thank you for your time.”

Grantaire is just in time to see Enjolras put down his phone. He turns around at his desk and looks up at Grantaire, who is lingering in the doorway.

“I didn’t get it,” he says and he sounds so uncharacteristically defeated that Grantaire has an irrational urge to call whoever was on the other end of that line back to drag them through the phone and witness what they did.

“I know you really wanted that traineeship,” he says, trying to think of something better to say than “I’m sorry,” which he is, but that doesn’t help.

“It was a long shot anyway,” Enjolras mutters. “I’m too young, don’t have enough experience.”

“It’s a  _traineeship_ ,” Grantaire protests.

“Yeah, well,” Enjolras sighs. He gives a shrug and shakes his head.

“Hey,” Grantaire says softly, making an effort to catch Enjolras’ gaze. “Whatever reason they had to turn you down, they’re idiots.”

Enjolras forces a smile and Grantaire won’t have that.

“They are, Enj, first class idiots. I should know. I’m an authority on the subject. I’ve been doing idiotic things all my life.”

This time the smile is genuine and it’s mixed with the fond disagreement that Grantaire has fallen so utterly in love with. He crosses the room coaxes Enjolras to stand up, pulling on his hands. As soon as Enjolras complies Grantaire wraps him up in a hug, pleased that broad shoulders and a solid frame more than make up for being shorter than Enjolras when it comes to being the biggest in a hug. Enjolras hugs him back, letting out a sigh that carries a lot of weight.

“You’re awesome and terrifyingly good at what you do,” Grantaire mutters, half into Enjolras’ hair. “You’ll find a job where they’ll see that.”

“Maybe not the terrifying part,” Enjolras says, his voice muffled against Grantaire’s shoulder, but a smile still visible in his tone.

“No, the terrifying part is very important,” Grantaire says seriously. “Come to think of it, that should be on your résumé.”

Enjolras snorts and Grantaire gives him a squeeze before letting him pull away. He looks into Enjolras eyes and smiles.

“You’re gonna find something great. I believe in you.”


	22. Cosette & Bossuet Leaping Hug

Cosette is fine with flying, she really is, but she wishes it didn’t involve airports. It’s crowded and tedious and her feet hurt from standing around for what seems like an eternity. Her carry-on is heavy too (mostly because it’s stuffed full of presents she didn’t dare put in the suitcase that would be thrown in the cargo hold) and she is, quite frankly, done with all this.

“Excuse me, I’m guessing that’s yours,” a woman rouses her from her moment of staring blankly into nothing. She’s pointing at the conveyor belt, where a big suitcase, matching Cosette’s other luggage, lies patiently on its side.

“Yes!” Cosette starts. “Thank you!”

She hurries forward and grabs it, glancing around for one of the big clocks. She landed ages ago, poor Bossuet. He volunteered to come fetch her, of course, and he always comes extra early in case something happens to delay him. Something often happens to delay him.

Crowded in between a family of five and a loud group of friends Cosette finally leaves the arrival hall. All around her people are standing with signs and flowers, waving or calling out as the people they’re waiting for emerge from the sliding doors, but she doesn’t see—

“Cosette!”

Bossuet’s smile is damn near blinding. He looks like he’s been running and he’s holding a balloon that says “Welcome Home”, but Cosette barely sees it. She darts around a squealing couple, dragging her suitcase along with sheer force and runs at her friend. About three steps in front of him she drops her luggage and crosses the rest of the distance with a joyful leap, throwing both her arms around his neck.

“I am  _so_  glad to see you.”

“England wasn’t that bad, was it?” Bossuet chuckles, hugging her tight.

“It was wonderful,” Cosette sighs, because it really was. “But I’m so ready to be home again.”

“Good,” he says, squeezing her a little tighter. “Wednesday lunches are really empty without you.”

“Aw, Boss,” Cosette smiles. God she’s happy to be back.

Bossuet lets go and Cosette lowers herself back down from her tiptoes. He grins down at her. “Hey, welcome home,” he says. “I got you a—” He stops and looks around confused, ending with his gaze turned frowningly towards the ceiling.

The balloon is floating between the decorative lights, far too high to reach. He must have let go of it to catch her.

“Dammit,” Bossuet laughs and so does Cosette.

“I was not meant to be,” he shakes his head.

“It wanted its freedom,” Cosette agrees soberly. Or as soberly as she can with a permanent smile on her face, because she’s not going to stop smiling any time soon.


	23. Bahorel & Courfeyrac Leaping Hug

Bahorel is tall enough to be about a head above most crowds, which means he has very little trouble navigating the busy shopping mall. Being able to look out across everyone does not help him see past them however, which means that no matter how tall he is, finding Courfeyrac is basically impossible. Bahorel turns around, frowning at the sea of heads, none of which looks appropriately curly. He knew they should have arranged to meet up outside. How is he ever going to find Courf in this sea of people?

He’s just about to pull out his phone (not that calling will be very effective in all this noise) when there is a familiar shout from somewhere to his left.

“Baz!”

Bahorel spins round, nearly knocking someone over. “Sorry!” he says hastily. “You okay?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the woman smiles and Bahorel gives her a thankful grin, but now he’s lost the direction he was turning in.

“Courf?” he calls out.

“Baz! Over here!”

Bahorel turns again and suddenly there is a flash of yellow in his vision. Courfeyrac is standing on the edge of a big concrete flower pot, waving enthusiastically.

“I’ll come to you!” he yells happily and Bahorel shakes his head vehemently.

“No! Stay where you are!” They have shit to do, he’s not running the risk of losing him again for another fifteen minutes.

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes and waits impatiently while Bahorel makes his way through the crowd towards him. When Bahorel finally reaches him, having carefully evaded a group of running kids, he has exactly two seconds to find his footing before Courfeyrac jumps off his makeshift pedestal and straight into Bahorel’s arms.

“Oef!” Bahorel grimaces, pretending to double over when Courfeyrac wraps his arms around his neck tight enough to hang off him like a brightly coloured accessory.

“Finally,” Courfeyrac says happily, his cheek smushed against Bahorel’s. “I was getting tired of standing there.”

“You looked like you’re stranded on an island,” Bahorel laughs, hugging Courfeyrac tight enough to make him make an exaggerated dying noise.

“Well, I’m parched that’s for sure,” he complains.

“Food court it is then,” Bahorel says cheerfully. “My treat. I’m feeling extra generous today, my tax law professor told me I’ll never make a decent lawyer.”

“Happy day,” Courfeyrac snorts, bumping into him affectionately and they set out in quest of something sugary to drink.


	24. ExR Sleepy Hug

Grantaire does his best to be quiet, but it’s not easy to navigate Enjolras’ living room in the dark. There is clutter  _everywhere_. Important clutter. Study-related mostly. But that doesn’t make it any less loud when accidentally bumped into.

“Grantaire?”

Grantaire winces. He definitely woke Enjolras up, that sounded barely coherent. “Yeah, it’s me,” he calls back, keeping his voice low still. A light flicks on in the adjacent room and a moment later Enjolras appears in the doorway. He looks about a foot shorter than he normally does, in an oversized sleep shirt and with his hair well on its way to becoming a sleep-rumpled mess.

“What time is it?” he asks, squinting at Grantaire sleepily and he crosses the room without even looking, effortlessly evading the piles of books and scattered papers. “Did they make you stay late again?”

“I’m sorry if you waited up for me,” Grantaire evades the question. If Enjolras starts thinking about worker’s rights he’ll never get to sleep again.

“I tried,” Enjolras yawns. He holds still in front of Grantaire and looks at him drowsily. “Are you staying?”

Grantaire lets out a breathy laugh. “That was my plan, yeah,” he says.

“Good,” Enjolras mutters and swaying forward, he wraps his arms around Grantaire’s neck. “I’m glad you’re home,” he mumbles, slumping into a sleepy hug.

Grantaire lets his bag slide to the floor and hugs him back. Home. There are a lot of things he’d like to say about that. Most of them starting with an embarrassing amount of incoherent noises full of feelings. But he swallows them all for now, because Enjolras is falling asleep against him and it stupidly late.

“Come on,” he says and Grantaire can hear as well as feel that he has a dumb smile on his face. “Back to bed before I have to carry you there.”

Enjolras doesn’t answer.

Grantaire has to carry him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was all of them! (If I kept track of them correctly).  
> Thank you very much for reading <3


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